


1933

by YulianaHenderson



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, although I know this won't happen, it was fun to play around with it, s7 expectations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:08:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 14,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24251122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YulianaHenderson/pseuds/YulianaHenderson
Summary: When the new version of Phil Coulson realizes that there is no way in which he will convince Melinda May to love him again, he sets out on a decade-long journey to search for redemption - or at least, that was the plan. Will he succeed or only dig himself into a bigger grave?OR: "It did take him forever to get to 2019. Perhaps he had underestimated that."
Relationships: Phil Coulson & Melinda May & Skye | Daisy Johnson, Phil Coulson/Melinda May, Phil Coulson/Skye | Daisy Johnson
Comments: 11
Kudos: 42





	1. 1933

**Author's Note:**

> So this happened for some reason. It was initially supposed to be just a quick one-shot but it turned into a 14k+ fic with quite a lot of heartache and well, you know me. Love me some heartache.  
> This will be a multi-chapter but most of the chapters will be short! Please enjoy as LMD Phil sets out on a journey through history!

The first time they had booted him up, he had been mostly confused, disoriented, the last he remembered was the team leaving him and Melinda on Tahiti and he was certain he had died. Yet there he was?

Then, anger had washed over him. How could they? Had they not learned their lesson with Radcliffe? He had still been yelling at them and their stupidity when they had brought in May, white as a ghost, unconscious in that cryochamber. His heart stopped, or whatever programming they had put inside him to react like this.

"She'll be fine," Jemma had told him as soon as she had laid eyes on his distraught face. She had even put a hand on his upper arm but he had shaken it off.

Melinda… please. Anyone but her. Why did it have to be her? He hadn't come back to life for this. If she died… he wouldn't survive. He didn't care that he wasn't flesh and blood. Without her… he would simply cease to exist. 

Daisy had given him a recap of what had happened to put Melinda in this position. How a god-like creature wearing his face had tricked them all and had impaled her on his sword. Daisy had gotten emotional and Coulson could guess why, but then she had divulged that she had held Melinda while life had been slowly seeping out of her and all Melinda had thought about - it was him. (He had hugged Daisy tightly, hoping it would help heal some of her wounds.)

He watched over Melinda day and night from that point on - literally, because he didn't have to sleep or eat so he wouldn't get tired. And really, he would never get tired of looking at her, even in this state, she was still so incredibly beautiful, even his programmed heart reached out for her. 

Yet when she had come to, his heart had been quickly shattered as she laid eyes on him, and instantly determined she wanted nothing to do with him. Wouldn't even look at him. Yelled at the team for being so incredibly stupid, and he agreed with her there.

Her opinion on him didn't change, not even when she was recovering properly and joining them in some field missions with minimal actions. 

He was still so much in love with her and she wouldn't even look him in the eye.

His heart crumbled and shattered until he couldn't take it anymore.

He wanted nothing more than to wrap her in his arms, kiss her deeply, tell her about his love for her, how his feelings were strong and real and how he wanted to spend the rest of their lives together.

But she wouldn't speak to him. He knew the sight of him hurt her intensely, because she had buried him and then had been betrayed by something else that wore his face. He couldn't blame her.

But he couldn't be around her when his heart told him to kiss her, but her heart was telling him to piss off.

Daisy had tried her best to make these weeks worthwhile to him, she had accepted his presence almost immediately and had been great support so far. That's probably why she cried when he told her he would be leaving.

"I get it," she said when she had calmed down a little, "I just wish you would stay."

He nodded. "I just can't… be around her anymore. It hurts too much. I want nothing more than to be with her, but she doesn't want me around. I can't… convince her. And frankly, it hurts to even try."

"She doesn't mean it like that, you know."

"Of course she does. She has been hurt too much in the past few months, the last thing I want is to add to that. She was betrayed once by something wearing my face… how does she know it won't happen again?"

"Because this is you."

"Yeah. You know that, but she doesn't. She doesn't want to see it… and I get that. Hey, come here."

She falls into his arms with a heavy sigh, then clutches onto his clothes when he was pulling away.

"I don't want to lose you again," she whispered. "I hate that you'll be taken from me again."

"I won't die this time, I'm not gone forever. I'll just… leave your party. And who knows, maybe we'll see each other again in the future? After all, I don't think I can die."

She shook her head but his decision was final. He would always sacrifice his own wellbeing for that of Melinda May, so this was a no-brainer.

He hated having to leave Daisy behind, though. She was just as hurt as May was, and she wanted nothing more than for him to stay.

He just couldn't. He wouldn't hurt May. 

When they were saying goodbye, Daisy pressed something into his hand. 

"I love you, Phil. Don't forget us."

"I could never. I love you, too, Daisy."

And they hugged tightly before he left the Base in his broken down red convertible, for which he had ample time to renovate it.

Only when he was waiting for someone else to cross the street did he look at what Daisy had pushed into his hands.

He stared at the picture for ages, not quite believing he was holding a picture of his two favorite people in the world. He had to brush away a tear and was rudely interrupted by a car honking behind him - so even in this period of time, people were impatient. 

He quickly pressed the picture against his lips, before carefully tucking it away in the inside pocket of his jacket.

He did not know at that point that he would be doing that often for the next 80-something years.


	2. 1934

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, please excuse me if there are any historical events that are wrong in this story, tried my best to get them right but also had to take a bit of creative license, also with the timelines of the lives of our heroes.  
> (Also, yes, I'll be posting this entire story all at once, because I could have posted it as a one-shot but I liked the idea of different chapters more okay bye.)

It did take him forever to get to 2019. Perhaps he had underestimated that.

~...~

He'd had to change his name because he couldn't risk altering history too much by roaming around the streets as Phil Coulson. He now went by Robert Brown - a boring, yet common name that allowed him to blend in, and a name he had quickly gotten used to, surprisingly. He knew he had to switch places every ten years or so, because people would question why he didn't age.

In the meantime, in 1934, he had fixed his new green convertible, yet he had been unable to name her yet, not wanting to go for Lola 2 and not wanting to name her after either Melinda or Daisy - that would be weird.

~...~

He had applied for a job as a history teacher in 1935, not too long after fixing his new car, because he was bored and didn't have anything else to do. He did have to hold himself back though with his knowledge, because a lot of the things he knew about were yet to happen.


	3. 1941

He had enlisted for the army in 1941 as Paul Wilson, one of the first in line because, well, he had known it was coming after all and he could not pass up an opportunity to fight for his country. He couldn't deny though that he had perhaps hoped he would be blown to smithereens, because he couldn't turn himself off and every single night by then was spent reminiscing, wishing he could be with…

He had been a top soldier, ironically, despite his relatively old age, although he could never top Captain America. He did feel sad that he couldn't meet the man in person in the right time period, but he knew he would mess up the future and if there was one place he really wanted to get to, it was the future.

It was then, in 1945 roughly, that he had finally realized that he should try everything within his power to make sure that the future that the team had returned to would come to be, because even if he wasn't sure he would get to see them, he still wanted to make sure they were born and got to do all the things they had done to the world and themselves.


	4. 1955

He filled his time learning about as many things as he could, learning several languages, and trying to help SHIELD (then SSR) as best to his abilities, but always from within the shadows. He couldn't have anyone in the past know about him that also knew about him in the future. 

As much as he loved being in the past, it had its downsides. His modern brain was quickly used to little every day events, like reading a physical newspaper or the lack of a proper TV, but he could never get used to the appalling treatment of women and minorities, and wasn't quite surprised when he had accidentally joined the civil rights movement in 1955, as one of the only white, middle-aged men, which had raised some eyebrows from both sides.

Couldn't help it. He hated injustice and felt, after his contribution in fighting the enemy in World War II, that he could finally do something for the greater good again. He had been quite bored during the years in between.


	5. 1965

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's never really been discussed how old any of the characters are except for Daisy Johnson, so please excuse me as I decided it for myself.

In 1965, he had been reading his daily newspaper right before his first class of the day, when his eyes fell on the announcements of that day.

_ "Mr. and Mrs. May, of Fifteenth Street, New York, announce the birth of a daughter, November 20. The baby has been named Melinda Qiaolian, for her-" _

The letters danced in front of his eyes. 

He knew this would happen eventually. He knew he would one day live in the same time she did, but it still shocked and surprised him. 

Yet his heart started warming from the inside. Melinda was here. As a baby, granted, but she was finally alive.

(He also realized, he had missed his own birth, and wondered what had occupied him at that time. He didn't have an answer for it.)

He had looked up the house of her parents and without being conspicuous, had peeked inside the windows a little.

Baby Melinda. Well, Melinda Qiaolian May. Be prepared to have a guardian angel.


	6. 1966

As James Smith, he had met a woman in 1966 who shared similar interests with him, and who despite the culture and time period she had grown up in, still showed quite modern views. 

He had told her immediately that he couldn't fall in love with anyone, hadn't told her why, but she had understood. They had made the mutual pact that they would get married if they hadn't found anyone else in the next year, and so he found himself standing at the altar in 1967, marrying 39 year old Mary Williams, knowing fully well he wasn't in love with her, but also knowing for a fact that she wasn't in love with him.

They were friends, though, he would readily admit that. She cared about him and made him feel understood and gave him the space he needed. Their marriage, although not romantic in the slightest, was still enough to keep both of them happy. 

He had known it was a mistake to let someone in when he had found her in their bathroom in 1969, pale as a ghost and completely lifeless.

He saw stars for a moment, not knowing what to do or say or think. He was instantly brought back to 1933, when… no. He couldn't think about that right now. He had to help his wife.

Turned out, she hadn't been as happy in their marriage as she was letting on, and had killed herself because she had seen no way out. 

He had desperately looked for ways to shut himself off again, he couldn't take this pain, simply couldn't! He had still loved her and he was just doomed to hurt, wasn't he?

He had reached into his by now ancient jacket which he kept in the back of his closet and took out the crumpled up photograph. 

He hadn't looked at them since he had met Mary.

Alright, James Smith. You got a job to do. Wipe your tears and get back on track.


	7. 1972

The years were wearing him down, he couldn't age but his mental state wasn't doing so well.

Perhaps it had everything to do with Mary. And perhaps it had nothing to do with her. 

He visited her grave every week, because she had been his only friend in this time and he was so incredibly lonely and he didn't know how long he could live like this any longer.

The only thing keeping him afloat was the thought of Melinda. He had tried to keep track of her, tried to protect her, but he had noticed that especially her father was very good in making sure nothing happened to his precious only child. James Smith was quickly losing a goal in life.

In 1972, she was barely 7, she got to skate at the Nationals, an event Melinda had told him so little about, perhaps out of shame, or perhaps trying to keep some parts of herself hidden, private. He wondered, for the first time since learning that she had been born, that perhaps she wouldn't like him mingling in her very much secret childhood. And he had to try his best to appeal to her good graces, because if he ever did get to 2019, where he had probably last seen her, he had to make sure he hadn't ruined it again.

It was for that reason alone that he gathered himself and left the arena, packing what little possessions he had left and moving to the other side of the country, the entire flight unable to tear his eyes off the worn photograph. 

He wondered now, for the first time since 1933, if he was strong enough to go the long way around.


	8. 1982

The seventies slowly rolled into the eighties, and Michael Perkins was weary and done and didn't know how to face any day, let alone tomorrow. 

The photograph that was once again carefully folded in his inside pocket had given him strength for the past 40 years, but life dragged on and he was unable to find a single spark in him to keep him going.

He was sitting at a diner in 1982, pondering, not for the first time, if there was any way he could kill himself or shut himself off, when a stranger sat down in the opposite booth.

"Philip J. Coulson."

Coulson's mouth was agape for approximately one minute before slamming it shut and then opening it again.

"Don't say that name!" he hissed at the Chronicom seated across from him. "What are you doing here?"

"I have been quietly observing you for the past five years, thirty weeks and six days," Enoch said in his familiar monotone voice, "and I have come to the conclusion that you are not doing well."

Coulson huffed but couldn't look away from the familiar face in front of him. Aside from some younger versions of people he knew, that he had been watching from afar for the past decade, he had not seen anyone he knew in four decades.

"Of course I'm not doing well."

The two of them sat there, silent, for an eternity it seemed, until the waitress had noticed Enoch's presence and offered to take his order.

"I can't believe how good it is to see a familiar face," Coulson whispered under his breath. Not just to see one - to be able to talk to one.

Then he realized; Enoch was centuries old but he followed a more linear passage of time. The real Coulson was only seventeen, only just preparing himself for the adulthood that would end up both making him stronger, but also slowly killing him inside. Enoch didn't know Coulson, as they wouldn't meet for at least another 35 years.

"How do you know who I am, though?"

"It is not difficult to spot a like-minded individual, also at war with himself and time. I for one have struggled with the passing years, but that is a thing of the past. Also, you were rather conspicuous over the years."

"How? How do I overcome this?"

"Find a hobby." Enoch smiled what he thought was a nice smile but looked rather forced. He reached into his pocket and showed him the contents. "I have taken up knitting."

Coulson covered his face with both hands and sighed heavily.

"Of course you have. Look, I'm just trying to get to my team, that's all."

"That's all?"

Coulson nodded. "I've made it 40 years. Surely I can make it another 40 years."

The thought upset his stomach but he wouldn't give in.

"Then let me give you some advice, Philip J. Coulson - find a hobby. I can assure you, it is a great way to pass the time."

Enoch stood, picking up his cup with saucer and nodding his head at Coulson.

"I am certain we will see each other again."

And he left the diner, cup and saucer still in his hands, and Coulson was left staring after the Chronicom, until a smile crept its way onto his face and he chuckled quietly.

Maybe Enoch wasn't that far off?


	9. 1988

He decided to stay Michael Perkins a little longer while he searched for new hobbies. He returned to fixing up old cars, unable to resist temptation. He liked taking up projects that were especially hard to fix, and not even the best mechanic in that area managed to make them tick again.

Of course, Coulson managed to fix every single one of them, earning himself a job as a mechanic at his local garage, while still teaching history as well, because he just loved that too much to give up.

(Some students had wondered how he was able to talk about some topics in his classes as though he had really been there. He had just smiled at that and only increased the mystery he had around him.)

Time flew by quickly and it was almost the end of the eighties by the time he had to pack up and find another place to stay again. He was looking at the announcements in the newspaper, knowing that computers were now becoming more common but not liking the interface and the speed of it all. He preferred old school.

He knew what day it was. Yet he knew he wouldn't find anything relating to that in this newspaper, but he still couldn't stop himself.

Of course, there was nothing. So in the end, he did end up using those dreaded computers and searching aimlessly without Google for something he knew he wouldn't be able to find. 

But then, something caught his eye. It was in a picture of a newspaper clipping of this medical issue, on a page discussing rather personal affairs of some of the doctors in their database.

Johnson. 

It was just a last name, and yet this specific mention of said name made his heart flutter.

_ "July 26, 1988. Hunan Province.  _

_ Earlier this month, on July 2, Dr. Calvin Johnson and his wife Jiaying had the pleasure of introducing their newborn baby girl, Daisy-" _

Coulson clicked the article away quickly out of shock. Then panicked when he was unable to bring back the one thing he had been trying to look for ever since July 2.

He asked one of his students, who happened to be close in the library and was only too happy to help everyone's favorite teacher, if she could bring back the image he had seen just moments earlier.

She had rolled her eyes, muttered under her breath something about 'old people and technology' and made the newspaper clipping reappear again.

He smiled when he saw her name there. Traced the torn photograph in his jacket pocket and somehow managed to print the screen and looked at the clipping the rest of the day.

His heart was warm and yet broken at the same time. Daisy was born now but he couldn't interfere, despite knowing what horrible things she had yet to experience. Just as with Melinda, he found it nearly impossible not to mingle, to keep them both from the harm that was to be brought upon them both.

He could prevent Melinda from coming with him to Bahrain.

He could take care of Daisy after rescuing her from the hellish orphanage she had grown up in.

But… if he wanted to see  _ them _ again, in the 21st century, he had to let them live their life. If he didn't, he risked changing the course of time and making it possible for them to not have met at all.

He wanted to reunite with them. Sooner rather than later. But he still had about thirty years to go until he could possibly see them again.

He made a copy of the picture that was almost unrecognizable now, keeping the original safely tucked away in his copy of Ulysses and putting the copy in his jacket pocket. Ready to face another three decades.


	10. 1995

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, isn't the year 1995 the best year of them all? (Says the person born in 1995.)

John Lynch had built up quite a life for himself.

As all of his identities before this one, he was mainly a history teacher, always enthused by telling about all the big events that he had experienced without letting anyone know that he had actually been there to witness it all. If there was one thing that hadn’t let him down, it was history, and for that, he was glad.

On the side, he tinkered on his old Corvette, green this time, that he had abandoned somewhere around Arkansas a decade or two ago and hadn’t had the motivation to keep up with anymore.

He had found a name for her, finally. Mary. Perhaps naming her is what had made him fall in love with the car altogether, or perhaps it was the memory of the only person he had regarded as his friend these past decades. (He had learned later through a letter of hers he had found in one of his old textbooks that she had loved him dearly, and that the only reason she was ending it was because she couldn’t deal with the fact that they couldn’t have children. It had broken his heart but there was nothing he could do about that anymore. He had visited her grave after that, just out of respect.)

A new hobby he had developed somewhere around the year 1995 was writing a book. He had thought of the idea since probably 1991, but he hadn’t been able to figure out what he would write about.

Then it had hit him.

History. Of course.  _ His _ history. Non-fiction, about a guy who couldn’t age or die who had to live through most of the 20th century. Family friendly, because he believed nobody was too young to learn about history. He hadn’t thought people would like it, but he had had so much fun writing it and had still approached a publisher one day with the finished product.

He had fully expected the woman to turn his idea down. Yet he was signing for publication barely two months later, and signing copies of his own book not long after, and he loved the attention his work got before someone wanted to shoot his picture and he had realized why he had held off on this idea for so long.

He had fled the bookshop and hadn’t returned to that fame after that. He still got paid, and his publisher still sent him some fanmail, hoping perhaps beyond hope that he would write again.

Perhaps he would, but he could never appear on any of his books. Nobody could see his face. He couldn’t be documented in history twice.

He was reading some of his fan mail in between preparing classes, hating the type of man he had seemingly become to be reading fan mail, when one letter caught his eye.

No. It… it couldn’t be.

_ “The following letter was written by Sister Smith, on behalf of Mary Sue Poots, 6. _

_ Dear Mr. Lynch, _

_ I am Skye-” _ Then that was crossed out and succeeded by  _ “-Mary Sue and I really really loved your book! I wanted to get you to sign my book the other day but you were suddenly gone and I couldn’t get you to sign my book anymore. That made me very sad. I hope I can get you to sign my book one day!  _

_ Thanks! And bye! _

_ Mary Sue Poots.” _

He smiled when he saw, in much less neat handwriting, the name ‘Skye’, feeling, no, knowing that that had been stubborn little Skye insisting that her name was Skye and not Mary Sue Poots.

He couldn’t believe this letter. He smiled at it but at the same time stared for an entire afternoon, unsure whether he was dreaming this or whether this was real. Worrying for a moment that he had ruined the timeline but knowing he hadn’t seen any little kids at the book signing at all, knowing he would have noticed a child because his attention always went to them first. 

For extra reassurance, he asked the bookstore to share their CCTV footage with him to check when he was there and when Skye had shown up, but he was relieved to find that there had been a good twenty minutes between his departure and her arrival at the store, so there was no way she would have seen him.

He refocused on the letter again. He wished so much that he could reach out to her, hug her close, he knew that she was about to go through many hardships and knew just a simple hug would help her out a lot, but he couldn’t show his face around any of them, too afraid that he would mess up things. 

As a side note, he was surprised that a nun at the orphanage had helped her write this, because Daisy had claimed none of the nuns had cared about her very much, but apparently one of them cared enough to help the little girl with this. Even if she did seem to insist on calling Skye, Mary Sue Poots.

He did eventually decide that replying to her letter wouldn’t be too bad.

_ “Dear Skye, _

_ Thank you so much for your letter! I’m glad you enjoyed my book, that’s the reason I wrote it. I hope more people will learn how much fun history is, and I hope you will help me in this. Please keep reading, as it’s so much fun, and perhaps we’ll get to meet each other one day! _

_ Your friend, _

_ John Lynch.” _

He nearly kissed the paper before mailing it, imagining how happy she could possibly be at receiving a letter from him. Well, John Lynch. His heart had skipped a beat when he had written that last line, hoping against all odds that it could be true, that they could meet one day, but not as Mary Sue Poots and John Lynch, but as Daisy Johnson and Phil Coulson. 

He received a thin envelope in the mail a week or two after he had mailed his own letter. He was disappointed to find that there was no letter in it, but then he saw what it was that was in the envelope.

A picture of little Skye holding his letter with the biggest smile on her face. 

He broke. Couldn’t help it.

He missed them so much. The team, yes, Jemma, Fitz, Mack, Elena-

But mostly he missed his little family. Melinda May. And Daisy Johnson. 


	11. 2001

Scott Tyler enjoyed what little freedom would remain in aviation in the year 2001, knowing what would happen in a month (and killing himself internally that he couldn’t warn anybody, couldn’t prevent all these deaths). 

He was about to break his own rule of not interfering - and interfere just a little. 

While undercover, sunglasses donned, ridiculous wig on his head. He had looked at himself in the mirror and had barely been able to recognize himself, so nobody else would recognize him, either.

He watched her from a distance at first, his head keeping him back, his heart pulling him close. She smiled faintly at the barista before taking her cup, paying, and leaving the corner store. 

He bumped into her, on purpose. Not enough to spill her tea everywhere, but just enough to get her attention. He expected her to yell at him but she did no such thing - seems he had forgotten what she was like.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, trying his best to change his voice and hopefully succeeding.

He knew Melinda was 36 now, and about to be proposed to by Andrew Garner. He also knew that the real Phil Coulson had already been madly in love with her at this point, her best friend, so she would definitely recognize him if he didn’t at least try to change his voice. 

He looked her up and down quickly, hoping that his sunglasses kept her from seeing it. 

God… she was so beautiful. He missed her so much.

“He must be lucky,” he said, internally hitting himself on the back. One more word out of you and you will mess everything up. 

She frowned, and his heart did things he couldn’t focus on right now.

“Figured a business woman such as yourself wouldn’t dress up just for fun on a Friday night.”

She cracked a small smile, looking down at the little black dress she wore, with the black high heels to match. He remembered that dress - he had seen it on her just once, during an impromptu mission just a little while after this moment. 

“You’re right. How did you know?”

Her voice… god, how could someone miss a voice so much? He hadn’t heard her voice in nearly seven decades. 

“Just a guess.”

She looked at him a bit more intensely. 

“You remind me of someone.”

“I don’t think so, I just moved here.”

“Huh… alright. But, uh, I should go.”

“You’ll be really happy with him!” he called after her. She looked at him over her shoulder with another frown, then she shook her head with a smile and continued on her way. She probably thought he was another one of these weird New Yorkers that she complained about on a regular basis.

He had to sit down to gather himself as soon as she was out of sight.

God. She still made his knees weak and his heart beat several beats faster in his chest. How was it possible that after seventy years, he still couldn’t get her out of his mind like this? It would have saved him so much heartache if he had just let her go, but he couldn’t, he simply couldn’t. 

She was the love of his life. Always had been, always would be. Even after all these decades, he would still fight heaven and earth to be with her.    
Except now, he had willingly pushed her into the arms of Andrew Garner, knowing how much it had hurt him but still needing to do so.

May had once divulged she’d had her doubts about her relationship with Andrew, but it had been a random stranger on the streets of New York who had convinced her to say yes.


	12. 2005

Right now, Phil Coulson was in both the best and worst years of his life.

Mark Trelawney had increasingly more difficulty keeping himself out of his own timeline, because he knew how much he had been in love with Melinda but he also knew how much it had hurt him that she was seemingly so happy with Andrew. 

In 2005, he focused a bit more on Skye again, although he hadn’t been able to stop himself from keeping track of both of them a little and knowing he was a bit of a creep but just not being able to help himself. 

She was in her Senior year now, but her year wasn’t quite the same as it was for all the others. He had looked at her from afar a few times while she left the school, and the happy little Skye he had seen and cherished on that one picture the orphanage had sent John Lynch about ten years ago was no longer represented in the teenage Skye that strode across the school yard.

She was left alone by her peers but that was about the only good thing he saw of her that day. She looked… broken. Unable to conjure up anything that would make her happy.

Once again, he so wished he could reach out and hug her and tell her that she was worth it and that she would meet her family in a few years, that she would find her place and herself and that it would all be worth it - but he couldn’t. He couldn’t interfere. 

He often wondered how Enoch survived for 30000 years, but then realized he was less of a human than Coulson was. And even Coulson wasn’t human anymore.

Skye stood at the bus stop, all by herself, holding onto her bag tightly as if someone would take it from her in an instant. He couldn’t stand the sight of it anymore.

“I like your shirt,” he said, bothering less to change his voice as he had with Melinda, because Skye didn’t know him yet, thus would be less likely to recognize him. He still wore his sunglasses and wig, however. “Guns N’Roses. Were you even born then?”

He knew she was. 1988. (She didn’t even know yet that she was born in 1988.) She frowned at him, much like Melinda had done, which amused him, but he didn’t step away. 

“Thanks, I guess.” She was silent, clutching at her bag even tighter. “I’m not supposed to talk to strangers.”

He nodded. “You’re right. Very wise. It’s just… that I have this laptop I have no use for anymore? And I just thought you might like to have it?”

She frowned even more at him, crossing her arms now and turning towards her completely. 

“And you’ll just give it to the next stranger on the street? No thanks.”

“No, it’s nothing like that. I thought you might need it.”

“Look, I know my clothes aren’t sophisticated or anything but I’m not  _ that _ poor.”

“Didn’t mean that. I meant, you look like you’re a little broken, and I was hoping that perhaps a new hobby could help you out? At least a little? I was broken too, once upon a time, and I found that a hobby really helped me cope.” He looked at her and let her register his words. He reached into his bag and pulled out the laptop he was talking about, not a new one because he had gathered she would be even more suspicious of him that way. She eyed the laptop before looking up at him. “Look, I have no ulterior motive, just trying to help here. Take the laptop.”

He could see the gears churning in her head, debating no doubt whether she could trust him. He knew she had started hacking only a few months after she had dropped out of high school, and had always wondered how she had afforded a computer if she had run away from the orphanage without having a job or money. 

“It better not be full of viruses.”

“I’m sure you can figure your way out of that.”

He smiled at her, tapped her upper arm just briefly and turned around to leave.

“Hey, wait! I didn’t catch your name!”

He looked at her over his shoulder. 

“John Lynch.”

He waited to turn around until he saw recognition spread across her face, but he was already gone by the time that she called out to him. 

He couldn’t wait to meet her again. He knew, however, that he could only pull something like this off once - Skye wasn’t stupid, contrary to what people assumed when they first saw her, and she would be greatly suspicious if he showed up again, even if it was undercover as a different alias. 

The same applied to Melinda. 

It seemed only yesterday since he had last seen her, but it had been nearly four years now. For him, time moved a little faster now, despite the fact he still felt incredibly lonely. What were four years, when you had already walked the surface of this earth for seventy-two years?   



	13. 2011

The next few years moved quite quickly as he watched Melinda and Daisy grow up and live their lives from a distance. 

He’d had to hold himself back in 2008 again when Melinda had been about to go to Bahrain, and it hurt him once again to realize she had to go through all that again just to make sure the timeline wasn’t changed. He wanted to hold her while she cried and yell at the real him for even allowing her to go through all that, but he knew that he hadn’t known what would happen in Bahrain either minutes before it had happened. He would have dragged her out by her ears if he  _ had _ known, just to make sure she was safe. 

Mary was running smoothly as he still tended to her often, like he should have done with the real Mary - he shook that idea out of his head. There was nothing he could do about it anymore. He wished there was. 

In 2011, he had accidentally come across Daisy in her broken down van, still caught up in her conspiracy theories. He had seen her from across the street as he had taken Mary out for a spin, and had ducked across both front seats as her head turned into his direction.

He carefully looked up again over the edge of the dashboard, and saw she was still looking in his direction with much suspicion. He kept looking until he saw her start to walk towards him. He panicked, and reached into his glove compartment for the next incognito items - the same sunglasses, and the same wig. 

He was just being reckless now. He was a worthless spy - one of these days, he would be caught. He guessed it would be by Skye, but she didn’t know Coulson yet. 

“Hi,” she said, a little awkwardly, hands shoved into her pockets. She looked at him for a few seconds but when she noticed that he kept looking at her intensely, averted her eyes. “Uh, I don’t know if you remember me, but…”

“Of course I remember you. Guns N’ Roses.”

A smile pulled on the corner of her lips and she nodded. She was wearing the same shirt and they both knew it.

“Hey, uh… I never got to thank you, for what you did that day.”

“No need to thank me. Just wanted to be a good samaritan.”

“You saved my life, you know?”

That statement came out of nowhere. So she had been further gone than he had thought at first when he had seen her in her Senior year. 

And also he knew, he hadn’t saved her life yet, if at all, because they hadn’t met yet and it wasn’t until after they started seeing their friendship as more of a father-daughter type of thing that she really considered her life saved. (She admitted that to him in private. The real him. It felt kind of like a betrayal to be having these memories.) 

“I doubt it. I just gave you a laptop.”

She shrugged and was silent for a while.

“Well… thanks. John Lynch.”

“Have a good life, Mary Sue Poots.”

She both smiled and frowned at that name, and he couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight. She hated that name. But she knew little to no people knew that that had been her name once. 

“It’s Skye now actually.”

“I know.”

He nodded his head once, then turned the ignition and drove off. 

Just two more years, and he would meet her. Well, the real him. He still had nearly ten years to go.


	14. 2018

When the team had been put together in 2013, he left them alone. He knew everything that happened from that point on, and while most of these memories were pleasant, he was not about to recreate them and make the bad ones even worse.

He was David Reynolds now, and he guessed this would be his last alias before he would meet them again. Still roughly six years to go, and that was if they had managed to return to the right time.

It had crossed his mind often that it was very much possible that they had been zapped to a different point in time. Perhaps they had been put in the 19th century, putting them even further back? What if they had returned to 2091? He shuddered to think of that possibility, although technically, the future they had seen then was non-existent because they had changed the timeline. 

He hoped everything had gone according to plan. He hoped they would all be safe and sound and probably angry at him for having left but still, safe. At the end of the day, no matter if he was John Lynch, David Reynolds or Phil Coulson, he just wanted his team to be safe.

In the summer of 2018, he got a visit from Enoch again. Surprisingly, they were in the same diner as they had been in 1982, and Coulson had ordered the same thing while Enoch had walked in with his cup and saucer from back in that day. (The teenage waitress frowned at them before rolling her eyes and popping her bubblegum chewing gum.) 

“Philip J. Coulson.”

“Enoch.”

“I see you have been better since the last time we saw each other.”

Coulson shrugged, looking down at his coffee.

He wouldn’t dare say the past forty years had been easy. He had forced himself to go to sleep often, knowing fully well that he didn’t need to sleep, but it was a pleasant way to keep his mind off his memories.

He still couldn’t quite shake one memory from his head. Although he had forgotten a little what Melinda had sounded like, blissfully reminded of her voice back in 2001, he could never, ever, forget her white, lifeless body in that cryochamber back in 1933. Despite the fact that he didn’t have nightmares because of his programming, he still often woke up with a scream on his lips at that memory.

Same applied to Daisy. The look on her face as she had realized that he was leaving and that she would lose him had torn his heart open, once again despite his programming hurting him so much.

He had seen more death and despair in this lifetime than anyone put together, most of it from before his programming, he had lived through decades without friends, only the one, and he hadn’t been able to make friends anyway, because he would outlive them all and it would hurt almost as bad as losing Melinda had.

“Can’t wait to meet them again.”

“Yes, well, concerning that…”

Coulson’s heart started beating faster in his chest. He would not accept if the past eight decades had been for nothing.

“They will be returning in the year 2020, on May 27th, to be precise. Thought you ought to know.”

“What?”

“They will be a year late.”

“So?” What was a year when eighty had already passed? 

“So. Do not show up before that date.”

“I know, Enoch. How do you know all this anyway?”

“That is information I cannot disclose.”

“Right.”

Despite his annoyances by Enoch’s attempt to give Coulson a heart attack, he still felt his heart warm at the prospect of seeing them all again in two years.

Just two years… his hand reached into his jacket pocket and he took out the picture, this copy crumpled up and worn down just as the original had been, testament to the many decades he had spent waiting for them. In just two years, he would see them. He doubted he would get to hold them, they would probably be pissed, but even that was better than nothing at all.

The past eight decades had proven that to him. If he hadn’t been certain before, then he was certain now - Melinda May was his soulmate, the love of his life, and Daisy Johnson was the daughter he had never had, and he loved them both so much he had spent decades to search for redemption, for a way to prove to Melinda that it was him, and yet he realized he hadn’t been doing a lot of that and had spent most of his time admiring her from afar.

He sighed. 

“Where do I go?”

“That information will be distributed to you at the right time. Do be cautious however, Philip J. Coulson. They will not be happy to see you.”

“Why not?”

Enoch didn’t answer that and finished his coffee, not even pulling a face at the temperature which was still no doubt quite high because they hadn’t been sitting there for long, and gathered his cup and saucer once again, just like he had that one afternoon in 1982. He still drew weird faces from the other customers.

Coulson spent the rest of that day, quite frankly, the rest of that year to figure out what Enoch meant. 

They wouldn’t be happy to see him. Why? He had done the right thing by leaving Melinda, that is what she had asked of him, but it only dawned on him in April 2020 that he had left them. He had said he was the real Phil Coulson, and yet he had left them just like that, had walked off Base, had abandoned them. They couldn’t know that he would be waiting for them at the other end, when they were zapped back into the future. 

And suddenly, a sinking feeling pooled in his stomach.

Was it really a good idea to meet them again? Had the past eighty years been for nothing?


	15. Early 2020

Turns out, he wasn’t quite the hero everyone made him out to be. 

He had been at the spot where Enoch had guaranteed they would be zapped back to, but the sinking feeling in his stomach hadn’t left him, not even in the slightest. If only, it had increased.

He was a terrible human being. He realized that now. He should probably have stayed with them a little longer, talk to Melinda one more time, perhaps she would come to realize that it was really him.

Who was to say that she would believe him now? If anything, she would be more convinced that this wasn’t him, because he had just lived through eighty years without aging a day and that was not something the real Phil Coulson was capable of doing. (Even if he was still alive.) 

He had dived behind some cardboard boxes just when he heard the zap, and the Zephyr made its presence known loudly, smoothly put on the ground, perhaps by Melinda but he couldn’t be sure. He could see them, and he hoped they couldn’t see him.

The cargo doors lowered and the first to deboard was Daisy, spreading her arms wide and inhaling deeply before exhaling. She said something unintelligible from this distance, but he was certain she was lamenting over how happy she was to be back in her correct time. 

Little by little, the entire team started deboarding, all of them happy to be back and that they had succeeded.

Something pulled on Coulson’s heartstrings. He wanted to be part of their jubilations, but he realized now that he was not worthy of them. He had to make do with watching them from far away, just like he had for the past 50+ years.

“I just wish Coulson would be here,” he heard Daisy say, as the team minus one walked past, arms around each other. They let their agreement be heard before they disappeared, probably going to get some beers and order pizzas. That’s what he would do, anyway.

There was still one person missing from the group, and Coulson was worried for all the time she didn’t show up, because what if she had decided she didn’t want to fight? What if she had stayed behind in 1933 too? He doubted that last one but she would be well and truly dead by now if that was true. 

His breathing quickened when his head was running countless of possibilities past him, about what could have happened to her, but then everything stopped as she deboarded the plane too.

She looked tired. Beyond tired - she looked like she could sleep for two weeks straight. She was slumping a bit, the massive injury to her stomach most definitely the reason, and he wished that he could hook his arm underneath her and help her walk the last few feet, just like he had wished that when he had still been with them. 

God. She was so beautiful. He had roamed the earth for eighty years and he still had yet to find somebody who was more beautiful than her. Even now, while she looked like she had been through hell (and she had) he would still fall in love with her all over again. 

She passed him, unaware of his presence, and then the hangar was empty once more.

He hesitated. He wanted nothing more than to be with her, he had wished for that for so many years now, but she deserved better and she was probably still pissed at him and wouldn’t want anything to do with him. 

This had been a terrible idea. Eighty years had passed for him, enough time to think about things and come to the realization that she was the love of his life - but for her, hours had passed, days at most. He knew her - she didn’t change her mind in that short a timespan.

He would only make things worse by appearing now. So he donned his sunglasses and was on his way out when a familiar voice stopped him.

“Where are you going?”

He turned around to find Enoch standing there, that odd Chronicom that had helped him through the past forty years or so, and that had done everything within his powers to get him reunited with the team.

“I can’t do it.”

“You can, and you will.”

“They will still hate me.”

Enoch shook his head and put his hands together behind his back.

“They do not hate you anymore than they did two days ago.” He was probably referring to when he had left in their timeline. 

“Thanks, that’s reassuring.”

“You have nothing to lose, Philip J. Coulson.” Enoch was about to say something else before they heard voices approaching the hangar once again. Coulson dove behind the same boxes before peeking over the edge at the people who had just reappeared.

Of course. Figures.

“Here,” Daisy said, handing May a bottle of beer after helping her sit down. “Drink.”

“Won’t make things better.”

“Nope, but it certainly won’t make things worse.”

The two sat in silence, drinking their beer, looking at the Zephyr. It felt highly inappropriate to be listening in on this conversation, even though they hardly said anything to begin with. They did, after all, believe they were talking in private.

“I still wish Coulson would have been here,” Daisy admitted after a while. 

Melinda nodded, which did things to his heart.

“But the idiot left.”

“Yep. We all know why, though.”

Melinda didn’t grace that with an answer, however, just sipped her beer again. 

That was when something caught Daisy’s attention, not Coulson hiding behind cardboard boxes or Enoch just flanking in the corners of the hangar, but something on the ground. He raised a little more to see what it was and then his heart stood still in his chest. 

No. Shit!

He reached into his pockets and found them empty, the photograph that had given him so much comfort all these years gone. He knew exactly where it was.

“What the…” Daisy picked up the photograph and inspected it, before her head shot up and she looked around the hangar. “This is not…”

Melinda didn’t seem to understand what was going on and just frowned at Daisy, probably brushing her behavior off as just another typical Daisy act. 

Daisy had gotten up at this point, and was actively looking around the hangar, and Coulson felt his heart beat frantically in his chest. 

He didn’t want it to go like this. He really didn’t. He could still pretend that he wasn’t here.

“Coulson?”

He didn’t respond. Even kept his mouth and nose covered even though he could technically tell his programming to stop breathing altogether and it wouldn’t matter.

“If you’re here, please show yourself.”

Melinda was getting slightly pissed now, and not just from her beer.

“Daisy, cut this out. It’s not funny.”

“I’m not trying to be funny! I gave this picture, when…” She shook her head, probably dismissing all of her thoughts because admittedly, they were ridiculous, even if Coulson knew she was definitely right. “Coulson, please. Please show yourself.”

“Right, that’s it. I’ve had it with your stupid games! It’s not funny!” May had somehow pushed herself up despite her injuries and was walking out of the hangar. She had dropped her bottle of beer angrily in the dustbin next to the door to the entrance to the rest of the Base.

Daisy still wouldn’t let go of her theories. She kept looking around the hangar but couldn’t find him, he knew that. She sighed, the sound a little sad at the end, and nodded. 

“Alright. Well, I know you’re here, and… you can come to my bunk later, if you want. I just want to see you again.”

She left the hangar, too, and Coulson was left a quivering, slightly hyperventilating mess.

~...~

Daisy’s insides had hurt the moment she had hugged Coulson and had known it was probably, definitely the last time she would see him. She couldn’t go through that pain again, and that was why she had been so desperate to accept his LMD version, perhaps a little too desperate, but she had not grieved properly and now, she didn’t have to.

But of course she had to hurt, though. That was what her life was all about, wasn’t it? One painful chapter after the next, and there was no hope for a fluffy, happy ending.

It was because of May that Coulson had no longer wanted to stick around. She should hate the woman for that, hate her stubbornness, hate her temper, but she couldn’t hate the woman who was closest to a mother she would ever get. She couldn’t hate May because she understood - the last time something with his face had shown up, it had stabbed her through her stomach and she had nearly died. She probably couldn’t deal with another betrayal.

But Daisy knew that this was Coulson. Well, not the real him, the real Coulson was buried in a grave somewhere, but it was the closest thing that they would get to a Coulson, to hearing him share his stupid puns and feeling his arms around them so tight, the way only he could, the way that would put all your broken pieces back together.

Daisy knew that May was craving that too, but she just understood… how reluctant May was. Nothing they said or did would ever be enough, and Daisy guessed she just had to accept that. Staying angry at May for forcing him away wouldn’t bring him back.

But then… Daisy had seen the photograph on the hangar’s floor, and her heart had done some backflips in her chest. It could still be a trick, it was obvious this photograph wasn’t the original she had given him, rather a poor copy of it. But… she had to believe. She had to have faith. If she couldn’t have faith, what else did she have? 

Although her brain was coming up short with how he had showed up here in the first place. He hadn’t travelled with them in the Zephyr, because he had left a day or so ago and hadn’t returned since. But her heart didn’t quite listen to her brain.

She had hoped that he would listen to her, show up in her bunk that night and hug her tight and tell her that everything was okay now and that he was there and that he wouldn’t leave. She needed his reassuring words right now, but they were too far away from her.

Hours passed, and she had stayed awake in her bunk hoping he would show up, but had fallen asleep somewhere after midnight because she was just too damn tired and she had only closed her eyes for a bit, but then when she opened them it was already morning. 

She saw a note on her desk, however, and shot up so quickly she nearly fainted when all of her blood was anywhere but her head. She sat down on the chair and still looked at the note, her vision troubled with stars. 

_ “Dearest Daisy, _

_ It has taken me a while, but I’ve finally realized that I can’t be with you and May. She still hates me, and I can’t stand that idea. This is goodbye. _

_ Love, Coulson.” _

So it had been him! Oh my god! He had been here, he had been in her bunk, he had written her a note and she hadn’t noticed a thing but he was here! In this time!

…

How, though? Once again, she was certain that he hadn’t travelled with them on the Zephyr, and she had been certain there had been no other time travelling devices back in the 30s, so she came up short-

Wait. The photograph… she looked at it again. 

It was old, crumpled, barely identifiable but she knew that she and May were pictured there. She was certain this was a copy because there were some lines through it that you would only get from those horrible printers back in the-

Could it be… no, it couldn’t. It simply couldn’t. Even Phil Coulson wouldn’t be so stupid to go the long way round and wait eighty years-

_ It has taken me a while… _

He had, hadn’t he? He had left them in 1933 and there was no way for him back then to tell if there would be any other way to get back to the future. Perhaps that had been his plan all along, it sounded just as stupid as he could get sometimes. But this photograph, obviously a copy of a photograph that had also looked old and torn…

She sat in the hangar for days after that, hoping that he would show up. He had waited for them for eighty years. The least she could do was try and return the favor.


	16. Summer 2020

He hadn’t dared return to the hangar, especially not after sneaking into the Base at night and writing that letter for Daisy. 

He had written one for Melinda, too, but he doubted she would read it, and if she did, she probably wouldn’t believe it was him. He wouldn’t blame her for that.

He was sitting in that familiar diner one afternoon, deep into the summer of 2020, several months after the team had returned from the past, when he saw Enoch with his cup and saucer approach him. There was a shadow behind him, though, and Coulson was about to flee, his cover was blown, when he saw it was Daisy.

She wouldn’t allow him to get away, not again. He could try to run but she would find a way to keep him there.

“Philip J. Coulson.”

“Enoch.”

They both sat down and looked at each other, before looking at Daisy who was probably feeling a million emotions at once. He saw tears building in her eyes and wanted to reach out to her and hug her, but he couldn’t. 

He really couldn’t.

He could, though, because he was finally in the right time and so was she and he didn’t have to worry about the timeline being ruined, but still… he couldn’t.

“Coulson…”

He nodded and smiled sadly at her, scooting a bit to the side to allow her to slide into the booth. She did, the first tear on her cheek, before she wrapped her arms around him tightly.

He hadn’t felt something like this since… since Mary. And even earlier… well.

“Hey.”

“Hey? You leave the base just like that and spend eighty years roaming the planet and all you can come up with is ‘hey’?”

He shrugged and accepted his cup of coffee from the kind waitress, who just so happened to be, he suddenly realized, the same waitress as the last time, now a young adult without the chewing gum. 

“Are you… are you okay? I mean, that can’t have been easy.”

He nodded. Shrugged again. She didn’t have to know all of the things that he had witnessed and experienced. She didn’t need to know that he had fought in WW2, that he had marched with MLK, that he had been… that he had been a stalker and had followed her and Melinda for most of their lives.

“Jesus, Coulson, this is…” She turned towards him and hugged him again. It felt nice. He shouldn’t give in to it, however. He pushed her away gently, just to protect them both. He couldn’t stay. "Has it really been eighty years for you?"

"Eighty-seven, but yeah."

“Oh my god.”

They sat in silence, as Daisy had taken the hint that she should put a little more distance between them. She ordered coffee, too, and Coulson could practically hear the gears churning in her head. 

“What has it been like?” she asked eventually, not surprising him. 

He shrugged. “To be honest? Not as good as I had expected it to be.”

She nodded in understanding even though there was nothing there for her to understand. She received her coffee then from the waitress and stared at the beverage in front of her.

“Uh… did you think… of a way to, uh… convince her?”

He shook his head, sadly. He wished he had thought of something, anything, he’d had nearly nine decades to think about a plan, but perhaps a part of him had known that Melinda wouldn’t be so easily convinced, and perhaps he had felt that he had lost her already, the moment they had buried him. 

“There’s gotta be a way. I mean, you waited so long for her, it can’t end like this.”

She was right, of course. He would hate for all this to have been for nothing, but it seemed that that was the direction this was going. 

His heart ached when his thoughts briefly lingered on Melinda. The moment he had seen her in that hangar… 

“Okay. We’ll find a way. I promise.” She put her hand on his briefly, tenderly, and he wanted to hug her, too, but he knew he shouldn’t. “In the meantime… what have you been up to?”

He smiled at her interest, enthusiasm, she would have a hell of an afternoon if he would explain everything that had happened to him, but there was simply no way he could summarize all these years and do it any justice. So he decided to tell her the most important parts.

“I have to be honest with you, Daisy. I’ve been watching you and Melinda, since, well… since you were born. I know, it sounds like I’m such a creep, but I had to make sure that you two were born and grew up to become just the way you are now, or else I would never have been able to see you today.”

It took her awhile to register that, but looked at him eventually. 

“Wait… you’ve been spying on us?”

“I don’t like to look at it like that,” he quickly corrected, but Enoch stepped in.

“In a sense, Philip has done exactly what any other anthropologist Chronicom has done for many centuries. Study humanity from a distance and only interfere when an Extinction Level Event presents itself.”

“There was less of that going on,” Coulson added, “but I still tried to make sure that you two were safe and that the timeline stayed intact.”

“Wait a minute,” Daisy interrupted before he could say anything else, “so you’re saying you could have prevented me from all of those things in the past?”

He pressed his lips together and nodded. Her face got a little red in anger, and she almost pushed him, before he tapped her upper arm briefly, which calmed her down only enough for her not to hurt him. (Not that he could feel any physical pain.) 

“I wished I could have helped, Daisy. I really did. But we might never have met if I had interfered, and I didn’t want that to happen.”

“I never would have stayed in the orphanage because I would still have my parents.”

“Yes, you’re right.”

“And you could have prevented May from ever going to Bahrain.”

“True as well.”

She took in a deep breath to calm herself down further. He knew what this would look like - he had kept an eye on them all these years and he had let all these horrible things happen to them without helping them out at all, and all these years he had somehow felt that Daisy would be angry for this exact reason. He had only been selfish, really, because he could have protected them, but then their life could have turned out drastically different, and that thought had made his heart clench. 

It could be possible in that way that Melinda was still married to Andrew, perhaps with some kids running around their modest family home.

Even worse… it could make it possible for Daisy never to have met any of them, had instead been living with her parents, like she had said. 

He wasn't certain if it had been his call to make to decide that the life they were in now would be better than any of those other lives.

“Wait… touch my arm again.”

“What?”

She reached for his hand and put it on her upper arm. He felt very much like a prop, only he had no idea what his purpose was. 

She gasped when it clicked. “John Lynch?”

Whatever he had expected her to be thinking about, that had not even been near the list. His heart shot out of his chest at the mention of the name he hadn’t carried with him for decades, quite frankly, but the alias that he had liked the most, probably because it had brought him a little closer to Skye. 

“Oh my god,” she breathed, lowering her eyes to her lap, then surprising him again when she once more wrapped her arms around him. “You did help me out.”

He nodded and for the first time in decades, allowed himself to wrap his arms around her, too. She took in a deep breath and burrowed her face closer into his neck, and they sat like that for a while, not in the slightest caring about other customers who were shooting confused eyes towards them.

“I remember when I first met you, you looked sort of familiar,” she admitted, blushing slightly when they pulled away. “I should have known.”

“You couldn’t have known, Daisy. I made sure I didn’t look like myself when we met, and anyway, we wouldn’t meet each other for years when we last saw each other.”

“Well, thanks. That laptop literally saved my life.”

“Literally?”

“Okay, figuratively. I can’t believe this. My whole life was a lie.”

He smiled and shrugged, then realized there was one more thing he would love to show her. He reached into his pocket, fished out his phone and searched for a picture on it. 

“I’m so glad these exist now,” he admitted sheepishly, while scrolling through the few pictures he had, “I was in front of the line when they sold the first smartphone.”

Daisy chuckled. “Nerd.” But she was waiting impatiently for whatever he wanted to show her.

He found it eventually, and showed it to her.

It was a picture of little 6-year-old Skye, holding his letter proudly in front of her, and Daisy’s eyes filled up with tears. She took the phone from him and looked at the picture for what seemed like ages. 

“Oh… Coulson, I don’t even want to think about how horrible it has been all these years.”

“It’s not been easy, but it hasn’t always been too bad. The thought of you, and Melinda, waiting for me in 2020, was what kept me going. That, and Enoch, who convinced me to take up a hobby.”

Daisy seemed to have forgotten the Chronicom was even there, and looked up at him. 

“A hobby? Now that conversation makes sense.”

Enoch smiled faintly and nodded. “I took up knitting.”

Daisy frowned and looked at Coulson. “Is he for real?”

“Yep. He’s been knitting since 1982.”

Daisy laughed and it warmed his frozen heart. He had finally been reunited with her, he had waited 32 years for this moment, but she was finally here. He couldn’t help himself when he brushed a strand of hair out of her face, and she froze in her movements and looked at his face first, then his hand, and then a smile spread across her face. 

“I’m glad you’re here,” she said, honestly. He nodded, sharing her feelings. “But there’s still one more thing that we need to do.”

He was confused for only a split second before he realized what other pressing manner had been on his mind for all these years.

Melinda. 

But there was no way that she would let him in, no way in which he could prove to her that even though this wasn’t the real Phil Coulson, it was still him, his memories, his wants and needs. He still loved her more than he had ever loved anyone or anything.

“It’s not possible.”

“It’s not going to be easy, I’ll give you that,” Daisy said, “but I don’t think it’s impossible. What if there was a way to prove to her that you spent all those years waiting for her?”

“I don’t think there’s a way. I had to change names every decade or so and move places, so there’s no record of me anywhere.” And besides, technically, he hadn’t waited for her all these years, because he had married Mary Williams in 1967. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t been in love with her.

“I’m sure your face is there somewhere.” She got out her phone, way more sophisticated than his, and started typing frantically. “I might need my laptop for this, but I can scan the surface a little…”

But after only ten minutes, she realized that he was right. He might barely have covered his face during these years, purposely staying away from anyone who might recognize that face, he had been actively avoiding any picture or video that anyone had wanted to take of him over the years. 

“I told you,” he said, losing hope. “There couldn’t be two people with the same face registered in history.”

“Ever heard of doppelgangers, Coulson?” she asked, incredulously, throwing the phone onto the table. “Now what?”

“We give up.”

“No, we won’t give up. Why are you so intent on letting this go anyway? I thought you loved her?”

“I do.” More than anything in the world, more than life itself. “But I’ve had nearly nine decades to realize that nothing in the world can change Melinda May’s mind if she has set her mind on something else.”

Daisy winced, knowing he was right. Melinda was stubborn, always had been, and he had always loved that feature about her, loved her ferociousness, but it didn’t really help now. 

“Well, why do we not go for the simple truth?” Enoch chimed in unexpectedly, looking at them both. They frowned and looked at each other first, before looking at him.

“What do you mean?”

“Just the truth.”

“The truth that he is Phil Coulson? Because we tried that before and it didn’t work.”

Enoch shook his head. 

“He’s not Phil Coulson.”

“Of course he is.”

But Coulson suddenly realized what it was that Enoch was trying to say. He was not Phil Coulson, never would be. He was a version of him, yes, but he was not the Phil Coulson who had been with Melinda all these years.

“He’s right. We’ve been trying to convince her that I’m Phil Coulson, but of course I’m not.”

Daisy realized what he was saying, too. She took her time to think about it, then nodded.

“Alright. It might work.  _ Might _ .”

They agreed on a time when he would be returning to Base, and they parted ways, but not after Daisy gave him a big hug, as though she wasn’t certain herself if she would ever see him.

“See you then.”

He nodded and watched her leave. 

And his traitorous heart was already envisioning him with Melinda, even though he knew as well as anyone that there was no way she would ever believe him.


	17. Summer 2020 part 2

Daisy’s heart hurt for them both. She couldn’t help it, they were basically her parents, and she couldn’t stand seeing them this sad. 

May was pretending to be okay, allowing her injuries a bit more time to heal now by subjecting herself to desk work, no matter how much she hated it. She didn’t growl at them anymore whenever they talked to her, but she was still reserved, even more so than she had been in the past. She was no doubt trying to shield her heart from more heartache.

May had actually told Daisy that if they were ever put in a situation like in that temple again, that she would prefer to be let go. In other words, May was asking Daisy the impossible, letting her die, even though the woman knew exactly how much she meant to Daisy. She had nearly slapped May then, at the last moment remembering her injuries. 

If only May hadn’t been so freaking stubborn, perhaps LMD Coulson would still be with them.

She felt just as badly for him, to be honest. He had often been unable to hide his feelings from his face, wearing his emotions on his sleeves, despite him thinking the opposite. The moment she had met him in that diner, her heart had broken almost beyond repair, because the little spark that had been in his eyes when they had seen each other in the past had been put out, by the passage of time mostly, the years that had passed without anyone he knew or loved. He had sat there as only a shadow of the Phil Coulson that she had known, very much broken beyond repair, even more so than he had been when he had left Base that day. She had wanted nothing more than to hug him and make everything all better - and alas, she had done just that, even just slightly.

She would fight for him, because May apparently would do no such thing, and they owed it to him.

“May?”

“What?”

Daisy didn’t pay much attention to the snappy response the other woman had given her. Perhaps she was too used to this behavior. 

“Can I talk to you for a moment?”

“We’re talking now.”

“I mean, uh… somewhere not here?”

May looked up from her work and into Daisy’s face. 

“What is it, Daisy?” Her voice was slightly softer but would still terrify the new recruits into silence. Daisy reached for May’s hand and pulled her up, mindful of the woman’s wounds. They had mostly healed by now but they still needed to be careful.

“I’ve got work.”

“Don’t care,” Daisy rebutted, pulling May with her to the bunks. She pushed open her own and told May to walk in first. 

The woman stood frozen to the ground as she saw what was waiting for them in Daisy’s bunk. Turned on the spot and was ready to walk out when Daisy blocked her path. 

“Listen to him, May.”

“It’s not him. How is he even here?”

Behind May, Coulson stood. He seemed just as desperate to get May to understand as Daisy was. (She just wanted things to return to normal, or at least, something close to normal.)

“I can explain,” Coulson started. May shook her head. 

“I’m not interested.”

Daisy shut the door angrily and looked at May.

“Will you listen to him for once?” she yelled. “Ever since he died, you’ve been totally unreasonable and craving for his presence, I know you have been, why else would you have tried to convince Sarge that he was Coulson? And then this version of him shows up and you suddenly want nothing to do with it? I’ve had it with your stubbornness! No, Melinda May, you’ll listen to him. He’s got a lot to say!”

May was shocked into silence and allowed Daisy to guide her into a chair. Daisy hadn’t yelled at May all that often, hadn’t had a need to, because she knew the woman would have beat her ass if she had - but it seemed May was accepting it for this one time, or perhaps she was just too shocked to say or do anything.

“Melinda, I’m sorry,” Coulson started. May wouldn’t meet his eye, but at least she was listening. “I know I’m not him, you’ve made that very clear. I will never be him, I know that, too. But… I’ve spent a long time… waiting for you, hoping I could get a chance to redeem myself… hoping you would see, that while I’m not him, a part of him is still inside me…” He paused, looking at her face. He shook his head and looked at Daisy. “I knew this was a mistake.”

Daisy was about to say something in rebuttal, he just needed to convince her a little more, when May stood. Coulson was shocked into speech again, probably too afraid that she would leave forever.

“I love you, Melinda!” he said loudly, so May could still hear it from her position at the door. Her back was turned towards them both. “I love you. I have waited eighty-seven years to finally be able to say that to you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“He’s not lying, May,” Daisy said, mingling just a little into their conversation. She pushed the old photograph into May’s hand, not the copy but the original, nearly nine decades old by now. “When he left Base that day… there was no way for him to travel in time. Not backwards, and certainly not here. He… he spent all that time waiting for you.”

May shook her head. She glared at Daisy, as if she was angry and offended that she had betrayed her trust like that. 

“That’s not possible.”

“I thought so, too. But then he showed me that picture… I gave it to him right before he left us… in 1933. He has carried it with him all these years.”

May looked at Coulson, her arms crossed, chin raised, as though she was inviting him for a duel that they all knew she would win. “Prove it.”

“I… I can’t.”

“I knew it.”

“Fifteenth Street, New York,” he said quickly before she was able to open the door. She froze again. “That’s where you were born. November 20, 1965. I read the announcement in the newspaper and… I was shocked. I knew that day was coming, but it still surprised me to see the words. 1972, you skated in the Nationals, and you were so good… it was a shame to have to leave early but I didn’t want to evade your childhood like that, knowing you hadn’t told me all this for a reason. I didn’t see you for a while after that, I couldn't find my drive… and then in 2001, I took a leap of faith and decided to look you up again. I knew exactly what was going to happen that night, but something in me still told me to convince you to say yes. You always said that there was a random, crazy stranger who had convinced you, and I wanted you to get married to Andrew.”

She shook her head, probably not believing her ears, too. 

“When I left Base that day, Daisy gave me your picture. I know it’s hard to believe, but I’ve carried that photograph with me ever since, cherishing it, because it often was the only chance of sanity I had left. If it weren’t for the thought that I might one day get to see you again… I don’t know what would have happened to me.”

She turned around and looked into his face. 

“This is ridiculous.”

“I know.”

May crossed her arms. “You have been on this planet for ninety years?”

“Eighty-seven, but yeah.”

“And how is that supposed to convince me that you’re him?”

“It’s not. Phil Coulson could do many things, but eternal life was unfortunately not one of his fortes.” It was a horrible joke, but May didn’t leave, so Daisy drew some hope from that. She didn’t laugh, but she wasn’t leaving, either. “The only thing I’m trying to convince you of, is that a part of him is in me. I mean… who else would be so stupid to stick around for so long, just for a chance to see you again.”

“You got that right,” May huffed, probably surprising herself with that, and turned around again. Gathering her thoughts. Daisy could see the woman’s face and saw in what kind of turmoil she found herself. 

Please, Melinda May, please quit being so stubborn and accept the chance that we have been given.

“It was you in that corner store that day?”

“Yes.”

“If you love me, why didn’t you stop me from marrying him?”

“Because I love you. He made you happy, just as I said he would. It hurt, but you loved him. I know that.”

“Only an idiot would do something like that.”

He shrugged. “Perhaps. All I know is that, even though it hurt to do so, I was happy to push you into Andrew’s direction that day.”

She turned around and frowned at him. “Why?”

“Because I hadn’t talked to you in seventy years. And I really, really, wanted to hear your voice.”

She was silent for a long time after that, averting her eyes, even crossing her arms. Neither Coulson nor Daisy knew what to think of her actions at that moment, although Daisy had a suspicion that they might have cracked through some of May’s walls.

But then May surprised them both by leaving without another word, and one look at Coulson told her that Coulson’s heart had officially broken beyond repair. 


	18. Forever

Somewhere deep inside him, Coulson had always known that Melinda wouldn’t forgive him. Honestly, she was much too stubborn, and her heart had been broken one too many times to be letting him in for a final time. He understood that she felt she couldn’t trust him with her heart again, and knew he had used up all of the ways in which he could try and get her back.

She was gone. He had well and truly lost her. 

He would schedule a meeting with Enoch the next day and ask him to turn him off - there was much to live for, he was aware of that, but without Melinda by his side… it just didn’t seem to be worth it. 

Daisy had stopped fighting him on it. She had done enough of that back in 1933 and she knew no amount of arguing would convince him to stay with them. It hurt for him, too, to see her so broken by his decision, but he wouldn’t be swayed anymore. 

He was on his way to the hangar to leave the base when he passed a certain bunk, and he heard… was that… crying? But who would be crying? 

He stepped a little closer to the door and instantly got the answer to his own question. There was little left of his heart to be breaking, but some parts of it had just broken nonetheless. 

It was Melinda. She was crying. He hoped it wasn’t over him, but he knew it probably was. 

She shouldn’t be crying over him. He wasn’t worth it. He had betrayed her trust and had chosen to succumb to death despite her specific wishes for him to stay alive and fight. 

He was about to knock on the door, offer her some support in whatever way he could because that is what he had been doing for decades now, provide her with a shoulder to cry on and a way to vent about her feelings - then he realized, that wasn’t  _ him _ , that was Phil Coulson, and she had lost him. 

But he couldn’t stand hearing her cry! Even if he wasn’t Phil Coulson, he was hurting just as much as her at the sound of her crying! 

He slowly opened the door, only slightly surprised to find it unlocked, and saw her on her bed, on top of the covers, with her back towards the door. 

“Go away,” she mumbled, sniffing and sobbing, hugging herself. Did she know that it was him? She had to, right? She was a ninja, after all. 

He approached her carefully, still certain she would pull a combat trick if he came onto her too suddenly, but she wasn’t moving at all, not even when he sat down on the edge of the bed, his hip almost touching hers. 

“I’m pathetic,” she said, a little louder now than the previous time. “I want it to be him. Why can’t I accept that a part of him is in there?”

He knew he had made a mistake in entering her bunk, she probably thought he was Daisy, and he had no business in listening to her thoughts that were only reserved for the young woman. He got up and was about to walk away when he felt her hand around his wrist.

“Phil?”

“I’m sorry, May, I thought… uh, the door was opened, and uh… you were…”

He shook his head and carefully tried to loosen her grip on his wrist, with no success. He applied a little more force, he shouldn’t stay here and she must know that, too. He wasn’t who she wished he was-

“Please stay.”

That shocked him, enough to stop his attempts of freeing her hold, and he looked at her face, for the first time since entering her bunk. Her eyes were red and puffy, her cheeks wet, but she somehow still radiated such a strength that seemed almost misplaced with a picture like this, but it was her, she was strong and knew what she wanted. 

“What?”

“Please stay.”

“But…”

“I know. You’re not him. But… you’re the closest thing to him that I’ll have, and… I want you to stay.”

He didn’t know what to say. Wasn’t sure his programming was computing, registering, what it was that she had said. Was she really asking him to stay? That couldn’t be real. He had misheard her, probably. 

She pulled him towards her and he sat down on the edge of the bed again, but she was still pulling him down, until he got the hint and laid down next to her on the bed, so very small, but just big enough to allow him to be flush against her, the tips of their noses touching. When he took in a deep breath, he could smell her shampoo, or her lotion, coconut and something else mixed in there, but he couldn’t really be bothered to identify it further. 

“I’m sorry, Melinda,” he whispered, still not believing where he was now. She shook her head. 

“He was always stupid,” she whispered, her hand on his upper arm. “Made the wrong decisions.”

He sure did. And he sure had. Phil Coulson should have fought for this woman, should have fought to have a future with her, but even this version of him knew that there could simply not have been a future between her and the real Coulson. Their fate had been determined long ago, perhaps even before they had met each other. 

The robot version of him, though… he was determined not to make the same mistakes as the real Phil Coulson had made. 

He brushed her hair out of her face and she sighed contently, before placing her head on his chest and falling asleep within minutes.

He was content to just hold her. It had only taken him nearly a hundred years to get here - but it had been worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it! Please leave me a comment/kudo if you did!


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